‘You work too much, Phil.’ She did her best to ignore the second item of his day’s occupation, but the deepened flush and her avoidance of her lover’s eyes answered it more effectively than words could have done. ‘You are getting quite pale and thin. No wonder, sitting all alone all day long in those musty old chambers.’
‘Well, you see, Patty, the more I work, the sooner I shall cease to be all alone.’ The flush deepened again, and the hand trembled in his like a caught bird. ‘And as for working too much, I don’t believe that’s possible. Work never killed anybody yet, and idleness has killed a good many. It’s better to work than sit still and wait for briefs which never corns. There’s no sensation more delightful than that of looking at a good day’s work, and thinking that every line and word has brought me nearer to you.’
His tenderness conquered her shyness, and she nestled closer still, looking up at him with a wholehearted admiration and affection. He felt a little sad and unworthy under it, as almost any honest fellow would have been sure to do, and yet it was wonderfully sweet to him, and more than reward enough for any effort.
‘I wish I could help you, Phil. I wish I could do something for you, when you have given up so much for me.’
‘Hush!’ he said, laying his hand lightly upon her lips. ‘We made up our minds long ago that no more was to be said about that.’ He was tender still—he could be nothing else with her—but there was a touch of sternness in his manner, too—as if the theme pained him.
‘But I can’t help thinking of it. It was so noble of you, Phil.’
‘It was the only thing to be done—the only thing possible. It was——’ he paused for a second, and then went on resolutely—‘it was my father’s act by which you suffered. I should have been a scoundrel if I had done otherwise.’
‘And are you to do all? and am I to do nothing? It is selfish to keep all the generosity to yourself.’
He laughed as if he found this female paradox a pleasant fancy, but she was not to be put off so.
‘If the subject pains you, as I know it does, dear, please understand why I speak of it I don’t want you to think I take your sacrifice as you pretend to take it. It isn’t a matter of course, as you pretend it is; and you may say what you like, Phil, but it isn’t a thing that everybody would have done. Don’t grudge me my gratitude; you did it for the love of me.’